


It Takes Two

by Eireann



Series: Tangled [1]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 06:49:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eireann/pseuds/Eireann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas is coming, and Hoshi has a bright idea.....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Star Trek (plus all its intellectual property) is owned by Paramount. No infringement intended.
> 
> Beta'd by Distracted - many thanks!

Ensign Hoshi Sato came to a halt outside Lieutenant Reed's quarters – and paused with her finger just opposite the chime button.

The idea that had come to her last night had felt brilliant at the time. Right up till this moment it had still felt great, though as she'd entered the turbo-lift she'd felt the first twinge of misgiving. Now it felt less like a brilliant idea than an act of suicidal foolhardiness.

It would have helped if she'd been able to canvass another person's opinion on the suggestion. She was too well aware, however, of the ruthless efficiency of the ship's grapevine. If this was going to work at all – and right now it looked like it wasn't even going to get off the design board – then secrecy had to be everything.

She swallowed. It had been a good day, she reminded herself. The atmosphere on the bridge had been cheerful after a rewarding visit to an uninhabited but geologically fascinating planet. Even Sub-Commander T'Pol was quite upbeat after her own restrained fashion; beaming might be more in Doctor Phlox's character than hers, but she had expressed great satisfaction with the valuable additions to be made to the ship's database, which was about as close to beaming as she was likely to get. Late in the afternoon, too, Commander Tucker had snatched a moment from his warp engines to visit and confer with Lieutenant Reed about a possible revision he'd thought of for the specifications for the phase cannons – and any possibility of improvement to the vessel's weaponry was bound to put the tactical officer in a good mood. Captain Archer had been busy in his ready room for much of the day but when he'd put in an appearance he'd been his usual genial self, ready to be interested in whatever issues had arisen in his absence. All told, she was rarely likely to get a more propitious occasion to launch her scheme.

Before she could think better of it, she pressed the chime.  _He can't eat me,_  she told herself.

"Come in." The voice from within sounded faintly wary. The lieutenant's reserved nature did not encourage the sort of friendships that resulted in many social calls. Even in the mess hall he was more likely to sit alone unless Commander Tucker was present. Trip's effervescent and determined friendliness had slowly drawn the British officer as far out of his shell as he could get. They made an unlikely pair; perhaps it was a case of opposites attracting, as it was hardly possible to envisage a greater contrast than between the slight, reserved, dark-haired tactical officer and the tall, fair, ebullient chief engineer.

The die now having been cast, she stepped inside. Lieutenant Reed had been lying on his bunk, reading a well-thumbed copy of a book on naval warfare. He had showered recently (his hair was still damp) but he was dressed in clean leisure clothes, no doubt with the intention of visiting the mess shortly. His top was not yet zipped up, affording her a view of his muscular torso that she wished she had more time to enjoy. Hearing the chime, he had risen to his still-bare feet to receive a visitor, probably expecting Tucker to come with further details of that revision for him to look over when he had a chance during his next duty period – though knowing the lieutenant, any such revision would be of far more pressing interest than his book, even though he was now off duty for the evening.

Seeing Hoshi instead, he looked unmistakably startled. "Ensign? What can I do for you?"

Knowing his punctilious regard for procedure, she stood stiffly upright, hands clasped behind her back as per regulations. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Of course. At ease." He pointed her politely to the chair beside his desk and sat back down on the bunk. The grey eyes were puzzled, and he looked slightly uncomfortable. He'd never been fully at ease with her ever since he'd made the mortifying error of thinking she was making a pass at him when she was simply trying to find out what sort of food he preferred so that the chef could make it for him on his birthday. Another man would have laughed the mistake off, but Reed had a hard time forgiving himself for even the slightest misstep. Realising this, she became unhappily aware that what she'd come to suggest would probably make him rear up like a horse encountering a rattlesnake, on more than one count.

"I'm sorry, sir – perhaps this isn't a good idea after all. I think I'd better leave." She stood up again nervously.

"It must have seemed like a good idea at some point." His voice was unexpectedly gentle. "Would you like me to be the judge of that?"

"I don't know – it's kind of awkward. I think you might be embarrassed." She pinkened a little on her own account. What had possessed her to think this might work?

"Well, as long as we get it straight from the outset what you do and don't want and it's not counter to regulations, I'm all ears." A faint, surprisingly shy smile. "In fact, I'm intrigued."

She hesitated, then sat down again and plunged in. "Well – you know it's Christmas in a couple of months?"

"Ye-es, I had noticed." The irony was merely playful; his nod was encouraging.

Her mouth was now perfectly dry. Prefacing her words with a stammered apology if he felt she was overstepping the bounds – and in all honesty, she wasn't so much overstepping them as doing the Starfleet record long-jump over them, if he chose to look at it that way – she told him her idea.

For perhaps a minute, which seemed to her to comprise the longest sixty seconds in the history of recorded time, he sat and looked at her with absolute incredulity. Then, to her vast relief, he began to laugh. The expression of astonished hilarity sat incongruously on a face that so often wore a look of concentration to the point of severity.

"Well, I suppose I'm flattered," he said, shaking his head. "But what made you think of me for this mad idea?"

"I don't think it's that mad," she countered, and gave him a few reasons why she didn't think so. He listened, still grinning, but she could tell that he still had reservations and his next words proved her right.

"I'm not sure that that sort of thing would do much for my position of authority. I need my men to respect me."

"I don't see why it should make anyone respect you less. Even an officer has to have a human side. They might respect you  _more_  for showing it."

"Hmm." He leaned back, drew one knee up to his chest, and sat hugging it thoughtfully. "I wonder if the captain would think it was appropriate behaviour, though."

"I think the captain would love it." The muscles in her stomach were loosening out of the knot that had constricted them since she'd walked in. He'd been unexpectedly receptive initially, but like any good tactical officer he was carefully checking for the pitfalls, and if anyone could find one it would be Malcolm Reed.

There was a pause while he warily explored this unexpected avenue, metaphorical phase pistol at the ready. Presently the grey eyes snapped back to her. "You do realise, of course, that this would involve spending time locked away on our own? On a regular basis?"

"Sure." That was obvious.

"And you know the first thing people would think when they noticed." A tinge of colour had appeared across his cheekbones. He too understood the efficiency of the _Enterprise_ grapevine.

"I can live with that if you can." There was no doubt that the tendrils would be abuzz with the scandal within days, but she lifted her chin with a determined twinkle.

He ruminated for a bit longer. Obviously it was going to bother him that their supposed intimate relationship was going to look like fraternisation with a junior officer, but one thing that the lieutenant respected was courage. He was under no illusions as to what it must have taken Hoshi to come here and propound this insane idea. And a part of him – the part that had been dazzled into life by Trip's influence – suddenly wanted, with a force that took even himself by surprise, to step out of the mould for once. To do something that not even  _he_  would expect himself to do. And (he was honest enough to admit it) yes, it was flattering that an attractive woman like Hoshi would seek him out and suggest something like this. She evidently bore him no ill-feeling over that stupid mistake he'd made over his birthday, which was comforting; and their illicit meetings would certainly provide a break in routine, a change from the sometimes faintly wearisome alternating scenery of the bridge, the armoury and his quarters.

Hoshi said nothing, but sat still and let him take his own time. Her heart was beating rather fast. She was glad after all that she'd taken her life in her hands and come into the dragon's cave – at least she'd get out without being scorched as she'd rather expected to be, even if he took the path of conventional wisdom and refused to have anything to do with her scheme. Certainly some of Lieutenant Reed's crewmen thought him hard and humourless, a man to be feared rather than admired, but working daily with him on the bridge she'd begun to perceive a kinder side to him. It was to that aspect of him that a little light mischief might appeal – as well as an opportunity to learn a new skill and to start unfounded rumours running among the gossips.

Finally he shook his head. She caught her breath, surprisingly disappointed that he meant to refuse.

"I must be stark, staring mad," he said resignedly. "OK. I'll do it. You'd better bring your duty rosters along so we can plan our 'assignations'."

Hoshi almost squeaked with joy before realising that such expressions weren't particularly appropriate in front of a superior officer. "Oh – thank you, sir!"

"I think, in view of what we're going to be doing, that 'Sir' and 'Ensign' are going to be a bit formal," he pointed out with a slight grin. "Permission granted to be on first-name terms during the appropriate moments. But for pity's sake don't forget and use my given name while we're on the bridge. T'Pol would have a seizure."

"Just until Christmas, and never on duty," agreed Hoshi, straight-faced. "Yes, sir... I mean, yes, Malcolm." She watched him, trying his reaction to it. But he'd given his word now, and he wasn't the sort to promise easily or to backslide out of an undertaking once he'd accepted it. A pleased but almost puzzled expression flitted across his face, as though he were wondering how he'd come to let himself in for this. Nevertheless, she had no intention of giving him time to start getting worried about it. "I'll go and fetch my PADD now if you like," she offered eagerly.

"Oh, why not. Might as well get started giving the gossips something to talk about." He picked up the book, placed a bookmark in it carefully, and replaced it on its shelf as he stood up. He was almost opposite her now, and he looked at her almost warily. "You do know I have virtually no experience with this sort of thing."

"I haven't much myself," she said candidly. "But I was looking through some vid-recordings the other day and this just caught my eye. It looks absolutely  _wonderful_. And I've managed to get hold of some instructions."

"It probably looks wonderful when the person doing it knows what they're doing," Reed said with his usual pessimism. "I'll probably go down in Starfleet history as the tactical officer who had to leave the service after making the universe's greatest laughing-stock of himself at the Christmas party."

"Sir –  _Malcolm_  – if you're not comfortable with it by the time Christmas comes we just won't do it," she assured him. "Nobody will ever have to know." She hesitated. "By the way, I really appreciate your even trying this. I thought you'd throw me out on my ear."

"I may yet if I can't get the hang of it. Or if we get carpeted for fraternisation." It wasn't absolutely obvious whether he was joking or not, so Hoshi flashed him her brightest smile and hurried away to pull up a disc with her duty roster on it. It might be a good idea to bring that vid-recording as well, she thought.

Just so he could get a good look at exactly what he'd let himself in for.


	2. Chapter 2

They were very careful indeed, and they got away with it for just over a month before somebody noticed.

Their duty rosters didn't allow them many nights in the week where they could meet up, and naturally they had to avoid it being noticeable that Hoshi disappeared from the social scene every evening when their free time coincided (this wasn't as much of a problem for Malcolm, but even he had to show up for movie nights occasionally). Their duties were sometimes so demanding that even when both of them were off duty one or the other of them couldn't make it or was just too tired for the degree of concentration required. But at least Lieutenant Reed had sat through the vid-recording without changing his mind, even if he'd looked somewhat pale by the end of it. And on each occasion that offered thereafter, Hoshi had slipped along to his quarters, checked carefully that the coast was clear, and slid inside. Owing to his rank, his cabin was the larger of the two and thus more suitable for their purposes. To begin with, at least until they achieved a measure of ease with each other and what they were doing, they wouldn't need much room: and they had already agreed that it would be wise not to take the risk of sneaking off to one of the cargo bays until they had to.

For quite a while they were lucky. They took the obvious measures to keep the noise level as low as possible. Nobody had seen the ensign arrive on this particular evening, and there seemed no reason to fear that their luck was about to change, but a passing crewman was startled to hear an unmistakably female voice from Lieutenant Reed's quarters. Human nature being what it is, he could hardly be blamed for hesitating; it was simply so unexpected that he stopped before realising it. He was then almost felled by hearing the lieutenant's voice saying with disastrous clarity: "No, Hoshi, your legs are too far apart!"

Being one of the more principled members of the armoury staff, he hurried on again before he could overhear anything else that his senior officer certainly wouldn't have wanted to be made general knowledge. He said nothing for several days, until it so happened that the group at his table in the mess began rather avidly discussing the latest rumour. Someone, it seemed, had seen Ensign Sato slipping away from the direction of Lieutenant Reed's quarters at an advanced hour, and she had looked somewhat dishevelled and flushed. Furthermore, to judge by her expression whatever she had been doing to make her so had been most enjoyable. It would have been an act of almost saintly self-restraint in these circumstances to have refrained from adding his tit-bit of information to the mix, and there were no saints in the ship's crew. Within moments a litre of petroleum had been flung on to the fires of speculation, and within twenty four hours  _Enterprise_ was ablaze.

* * *

Malcolm picked it up almost immediately. His years of training had given him a highly developed sixth sense for eyes boring into his back. As he entered the armoury for duty the next morning he realised that for some reason he was an object of considerable if furtive interest, and although he maintained an expression of chilly composure, his heart sank. He'd have to get word to Hoshi that they'd been rumbled; from this point onwards they'd have to be twice as careful. The unfortunate thing was that they were pretty well at the stage where his quarters would no longer provide the space they needed. Very soon they were going to have to meet in one of the cargo bays, and that meant that both of them would be having their off-duty movements made the subject of interested observation on all sides. For a moment he contemplated calling the whole thing off altogether, but then it occurred to him that evading detection could be viewed as a useful training exercise. On his part, at least – it being unlikely in the extreme that linguistic training would have been particularly strong on stealth techniques. He hid a smile at the thought of Hoshi being taught to use camouflage and terrain to creep up behind chatting aliens and eavesdrop on their conversations.

Somewhat to his surprise, when his co-conspirator was apprised over a closed com-link that their secret assignations were no longer a secret, she responded with delighted defiance. She'd already noticed that one or two conversations stopped when she got within range, so she wasn't entirely surprised by the news.

"Someone's going to pick up on this," he warned, thinking of the one senior officer who was all too likely to be the first. To do him credit, Trip wasn't likely to go running to the captain telling tales, but if T'Pol got wind of it she'd almost certainly think it her duty to investigate. Not being in the same chain of command, she might well think it appropriate to refer it to Captain Archer and then the fat really would be in the fire.

"Well, what are we doing wrong?" asked Hoshi. "And isn't what we do in our spare time our own business?"

"Not if we were doing what everyone bloody well thinks we are," he said drily.

"Well we're not, are we?"

"Hmm." She had a point, but it was hardly one that he could shout out to the crew if they were to keep their secret. "You do realise that we're going to have our work cut out to stop people tracking us down."

"You're Chief of Security. This is just up your alley, isn't it?"

"It might be mine. I didn't think it was yours."

"You've already found I'm a quick learner."

"You're going to have to be even quicker from here on in."

* * *

Malcolm was sitting alone in a corner of the mess a few days later, reading a book in between bites of his lunch and trying to ignore the fact that his usual ability to achieve invisibility seemed to have deserted him. That said, it was the first time that he'd pitted his wits against the rest of the ship's crew, and perhaps they were feasting their eyes on him while they could. The previous night he'd had to resort to scrambling down an access chute to get to the lower decks because every time he went near the turbo lifts someone else seemed to be there first. The fact that nobody ever looked at him directly was a dead give-away. It had suddenly turned into a great big game of Hunt the Lieutenant. Every time he quitted the bridge he half expected the people there to start chanting, 'Ten, nine, eight... Ready or not, here we come!'

He was by no means tired of the game just yet, nor was he in danger of running out of options. He had an excellent working knowledge of the ship's crawl-ways and ventilation shafts. He'd even created a programme that fooled the ship's computer into thinking he was in his quarters when he wasn't – though of course he had not included enquiries from his senior officers to be routed through it, and any activation of the alert system would override it instantly. Hoshi, to her credit, was bearing up better than he'd expected; she too was having to become familiar with the crawl-ways and to ducking behind bulkheads and into storage cupboards to let people go past. So the eyes that he could feel on him weren't entirely a source of irritation. He was also conscious of a grim amusement. On the last movie night, the film selected had been somewhat different from the usual horror flick. He could still hear the significant line playing in the back of his mind. " _Come out, come out, wherever you are..._ " He'd had to sit there pretending to be utterly unaware that virtually every eye in the place had swivelled in his direction. Commander Tucker was sometimes as subtle as an impact with an asteroid.

"Mind if I join ya?"

 _Talk of the devil and he turns up with a tray_. "Commander." He gestured politely to one of the empty chairs.

Trip put the tray on the table and took a seat. His blue eyes were bright and assessing, while a grin was tugging hard at a mouth that was trying to look solemn. "You're lookin' well today, Malc."

"I feel fine, thank you." He took a sip of tea and feigned interest in his book.

"Gettin' some extra workouts in, I hear," pursued his friend, carefully cutting a section of pecan pie with his fork.

"You know I keep fit. It's part of my job description." Long experience had taught him the art of keeping his face as informative as a sheet of duratanium. His grey gaze was innocently bland. "But yes, I've found a new way to improve my stamina."

"Oh. Sure." Trip appeared to choke slightly on a pastry crumb. He muttered something into his napkin that sounded suspiciously like, 'It's the first time I've heard it called  _that._ '


	3. Chapter 3

Lieutenant Reed stared rigidly at the bulkhead opposite his forehead. It was easier than staring into the twin points of steel that were fixed on him from the direction of the captain's chair.

"I always understood you were very much a regulations man, Lieutenant." Archer's voice was perfectly level.

"Reed family tradition, sir." He heard the reply, aghast. Flippancy was definitely  _not_  called for in the present circumstances.

"Yes. I'd have thought so." The other man rose and closed the distance between them. "I don't believe everything I hear on this ship, and I don't want to believe that you've suddenly decided to go against every one of these 'family traditions'."

Malcolm swallowed. "Permission to speak freely, sir."

"Granted." Archer looked wary.

For one insane moment the lieutenant actually contemplated saying 'How would you feel about being a godfather', but the inside of the brig wouldn't be a good place to find out that the captain hadn't got  _that_  much of a sense of humour. "It's – it's not what it looks like, Captain," he said, opting for the less suicidal option. "If you'll trust me, you'll find out that it's not. Eventually."

"Hmm." The other man leaned back against his desk, arms crossed. His stare had become slightly less glacial. "If it's not what it looks like, do I get to hear what it actually is?"

"It's – a secret."

"The sort of secret everybody on the ship seems to be talking about. That's not much of a secret in my book."

"It's a secret while they don't know what it is."

Archer paused, obviously considering. Reed risked a glance at him. There was the faintest suggestion of a smile crinkling the corners of the captain's eyes, and observing this he felt some of the knots in his stomach begin to loosen. Neither of them had uttered the word  _fraternisation_. They hadn't had to. Once summoned alone to the ready room he'd already known what subject would be under discussion. T'Pol had such acute hearing, and in all fairness once she cottoned on to the issue she wouldn't have had much option but to pass on the information to her superior officer.

"Hoshi's a very pretty woman," the captain remarked almost casually. In the ready room, however, remarks were very rarely – if ever – as casual as they might sound.

"Yes, sir." It was unlikely that any male member of the crew hadn't noticed that. Malcolm stared at the bulkhead and concentrated on keeping his shoulders correctly rigid.

There was another long pause. There was an infinite variety of tones in which that assent could be couched, and he suspected that his commanding officer was analysing with the greatest care what his terse words had conveyed. After a few moments, however, Archer's arms uncrossed and he straightened up. "Well, I guess if I have the word of a Reed that it isn't what it looks like, I'll have to wait like everyone else to find out what it is." He nodded dismissal.

* * *

Trip had had a long, trying day. He trudged down the corridor, wondering why in damnation he'd forgotten to pick up his favourite hypospanner when he was working on the latest upgrade to Shuttlepod One that morning. He hadn't needed it since then, which was why he hadn't missed it till now; and it seemed unfair to send one of his staff down to search here and there when he knew the areas he'd used it in and would be a darn sight more likely to put his hand straight on it. Two seconds, most likely, and he'd find it – then he'd take it to his quarters and leave it on his desk so that he'd have it on hand first thing in the morning. He preferred to leave everything exactly in its place in engineering, but that night he was just too tired to go all the way back with the spanner.

It was no more than coincidence that he spotted the line of light that showed under Cargo Bay 2's doors. There certainly shouldn't be anybody in it at this time of night. Probably whoever had visited during the day had forgotten to put the lights out. Shrugging, he stepped to the door control, intending to go in and remedy that oversight. An instant before his thumb contacted the panel he heard a low, husky voice from within, its breathlessness not for a moment disguising the unmistakable British accent. "If you were playing your part properly, you'd be more ... attentive."

"How so?" Hoshi's voice, sounding rather ragged.

An indrawn breath, and the male voice dropped and became soft and shockingly sensual. "I'd be  _paying_  you to do this."

Tucker froze where he stood. ' _Paying you to do this_ '?

There was a pause, filled with small unidentifiable sounds of movement and the occasional gasp.

"Malcolm, when you're doing it this well I feel like I'd pay  _you_  to do it  _every_  night." It was a throaty sound of satisfaction, half muffled as though it was purred into a bared chest.

A moment later, after more noises of movement within, there was an unmistakable giggle. The communications officer now sounded happily scandalised. "I can't get my leg down. I'm stuck somewhere."

"Well I can't take my hands off your bum or you'll fall." The lieutenant's voice was back to its customary clipped practicality, but his breathing was unsurprisingly fast. "I told you wearing something like this would cause problems."

Ears burning, Trip walked off in a hurry. He couldn't, he  _wouldn't_  believe that the reference to payment had been anything more than part of some rather exotic role-playing; but exactly what sort of role playing would involve Hoshi getting her leg stuck somewhere while Malcolm was supporting her with his hands on her ass was simply mesmerising. He'd tried a few unusual positions in his time, but that had never happened to  _him._  Damnation. Trying to work out how that could have happened would keep him awake half the night.


	4. Chapter 4

The Christmas party was at its height as Captain Archer walked through the door. He'd been on the bridge until half an hour ago, leaving himself just time to grab a quick shower and a change into leisure clothes. The duty roster was arranged so that everyone would have at least an hour at the party, though naturally the ship had to be kept at full readiness just like it was on every other night of the year; alien civilisations were no respecters of human traditions, however inconvenient that might be.

He grabbed himself a glass of mulled wine and looked around at the crew, who by the noise level were having themselves a whale of a time. Dr Phlox, expansively genial in a Santa hat, was handing round the mince pies. Trip was laughingly kissing his deputy Lieutenant Hess under the mistletoe hanging from one of the bulkheads, but it was noticeable both that T'Pol was watching him intently and that the kiss was a smacking one on the cheek as opposed to the full-on one on the mouth that it had been last year. Archer noted both facts and filed them away firmly in a mental folder labelled 'Things I'm Not Going to Think About Tonight'.

Having been reminded of the existence of that irksome folder, he remembered the other item in it. Over the past couple of months he had been obliged to replace that item quite forcibly on several occasions, the ship's grapevine being what it was. Now, of all times, the two people concerned should have been conspicuously present and behaving themselves with impeccable propriety. Last year even Malcolm had unbent sufficiently to receive a few decorous kisses under the aforementioned mistletoe, whilst a giggling Hoshi had been in almost permanent demand beneath it; even he himself had been dragged in for a suitably chaste peck or two, not that he'd minded of course. The stresses and strains of their mission demanded an occasion where the constraints of rank had to be relaxed a bit, and Christmas fitted the bill admirably.

Not wanting to jump to conclusions, the captain began mingling. In between chatting to people who would rarely have the opportunity to speak to him during the course of the year, he kept an unobtrusive eye out for his tactical officer and communications officer. A very short time was enough to show him that neither of them was present. He knew they weren't on duty, and a soft word into the nearest comm. station revealed they weren't in either of their quarters either. A slight frown of irritation creased his forehead. Tonight, whatever they were up to that was the best-kept or worst-kept secret in Starfleet, the two of them should have known better than to stay away. He'd thought better of both of them.

Suddenly the lights dropped by about seventy percent and the background music stopped. Conversation halted; people looked at first puzzled, then apprehensive. A couple of the younger crew members who'd been making use of the cleared space left for dancing groaned with disappointment, which they hurriedly stifled as they vacated the dance floor under the natural conclusion that the captain had requested silence in which to make some kind of speech and would need the space for that purpose. He always did, and he had a few brief words ready for later in the evening, but he certainly hadn't organised this. Whatever was happening, he was as bewildered by it as everyone else. Automatically he looked at Trip, who left T'Pol and headed towards him with an expression of anxiety.

The engineer had got perhaps halfway before a single brilliant overhead light silently illuminated a chair that had been left slightly forward of the others. The door into the corridor hissed open and while everyone was staring at the inexplicable chair a slight form slipped through the crowd and stepped into the open space of the dance floor.

She was all in red, from the cluster of feathers that secured her dark silky hair high on her head to the high-heeled sandals on which she paced towards the chair. The scarlet kimono was tied loosely at her waist, the same flaring colour as the lipstick that turned her mouth into a sultry pout. In a stunned silence she reached the chair, twirled about and sat down on it, one knee crossed over the other and her upper body bent forward over them in a posture of taut anticipation, her slender hands placed gracefully on her shin.

Almost in the same instant the same carefully prepared computer programme slammed music through the speaker system again. This was not the same cheerful background as before, however. It was measured but inexorable; it was driven, compelling and tense; even those who had heard nothing like it before were caught up in its pulsing South American heartbeat. And as if called into existence by that feral, urgent phrasing a second shadow slipped through the door and stalked into the light: male, muscular, prowling like a leopard seeking its prey, with the light slithering on black leather and the grey eyes glittering and dangerous.

The clandestine hours of secrecy paid off. The ring of watching eyes might not have existed. As he snatched her up by her jaw, the kimono fell back over the chair in a bright rippling flood and an unheard gasp went around at the sight of the sinuous body now revealed in a daring, long red silk gown cut away to the top of the thigh. The rhythm of the Argentine Tango took hold of them and they were swept away by it; they moved with the deadly concentration of posturing cobras, legs flashing and scything, bodies touching and retreating, eyes locked like those of fencers in a duel to the death. She turned away, disdainful, and he whipped her back to him by her wrist so that she melted against him, one long leg extended out of the slit gown with the red sandal pointed as his hand ran possessively down her body and his breath scorched the side of her neck. The music broke them apart again and they circled, feet darting, sex and death in an inescapable struggle for mastery.

Suddenly she launched herself at him, twisting somehow in his grasp so that when he caught her across his shoulder she lay arched, fully extended, until he swung around to catch her as her weight slid in what looked like a fall but ended in her pressed back against the length of his body, her fingers twisting in his hair and their mirrored expressions burning with a passionate hunger that brought perspiration into the palms of more than one of the riveted watchers. The burst of relieved applause was part of another excluded and irrelevant world; neither of them heard it. He swung her back on to her feet and followed up fast, a slim and lethal shadow, sending her sliding through his braced and parted legs before swivelling away to snap for an instant into a bare-chested pose that brought an involuntary gasp from some female members of the audience. She twisted over and he caught her wrist again to drag her slowly back up towards him until she froze, arrested for a split second with her lips a breath away from his, his right hand in the small of her back partly supporting her weight as he hung over her like impending doom. Then, as the music crashed into a crescendo, she threw her arms wide and dropped backwards into a posture of total surrender, suspended completely in his grip while he flung his free arm skywards in triumph.

For a fraction of a second there was complete silence. Then thunderous applause broke out, and the two of them righted themselves and stood panting, grinning from ear to ear. The usually stone-faced lieutenant was, indeed, simply unrecognisable.

"Mal, that was  _amazin'!_ " Trip was the first to hurl himself forwards and deliver a slap between the shoulder blades that his friend (at that moment) could really and truly have done without, being already exhausted with exertion and nerves. "You sly ol' fox, you!" He turned to Hoshi and swept her into a bear hug. "You were  _incredible! Both_  of you! I'd never have believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself! _"_

Captain Archer found himself in the unusual position of having to elbow his way through an excited hubbub in order to get a word in edgeways in his own ship. "'Word of a Reed', Lieutenant?" he said teasingly, when he had got close enough to do so. "So, that's what the big secret was about! I loved every minute of it! And Hoshi, you looked  _fabulous!_ "

Sub-Commander T'Pol had come more decorously in his wake. She looked somewhat austere, perhaps suspecting that she'd witnessed some unseemly human pre-mating ritual that had irretrievably lowered the tone of the mess hall. "That was a very ... athletic performance, Lieutenant, Ensign," she said, sounding as though she was choosing her words with painful exactitude in case she might possibly be in danger of being thought to applaud the content as opposed to the performance.

"Thank you very much, Sub-Commander," responded Hoshi with a meekness belied by her flashing smile.

"But the costumes! Where did you get the costumes?" Ensign Hess demanded from over Trip's shoulder.

"The one person we had to let into the secret. The quartermaster!" Hoshi blew a playful kiss in the direction of the guilty party, who had considered himself amply paid for his services already by the change from exercising his talents on the mundane repairing and replacing of uniforms, and by the sensation of being one jump ahead of everyone on the ship, right up to the captain himself. He grinned right back at her and waved a glass of champagne.

"Hoshi! You look absolutely stunning!" Travis took her hand and planted a kiss on it. His face still wore a look of absolute incredulity as he swept a stare down that extremely provocative dress which did so much to display curves that her uniform somehow contrived to play down. "I'd ask you to dance, but after that ... hell, I don't dare!"

"It sure was a tough act to follow!" chortled Trip. "Which reminds me, Mal... how are you gonna top  _that_  next year?"

"Next year?" The lieutenant raised his head from a cautious sniff of his armpits, which close contact with a leather jacket had reduced to a faintly unsavoury condition despite the application of a dozen hefty squirts of anti-perspirant beforehand. "You think I'm going to make a  _habit_ of this?"

"Ooh, yes, please!" chorused a dozen female voices, at which he turned slightly pink.

Tucker guffawed. "It's official, Mal. Security officer, tactical officer and ship's pin-up!" He shot a wink at those tight leather pants and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I know you put it in there to get the girls lookin', but if I were you I'd make sure you get that banana back to the galley before chef notices it's missin'."

"Piss off, Trip!" He hid his blushes behind a glass of mulled wine that someone considerately handed to him.

"Remarkable. Quite remarkable!" Phlox hove into view, beaming. "And I believe the bridge crew were able to enjoy the whole performance via the ship's video link. I'm sure they were every bit as entertained by it as I was!"

Crap. He'd been hoping that there were at least a few souls on board who might have missed it. Now he wasn't going to be able to walk down a corridor without someone eyeing his bum to check how different it looked out of leather. He felt a hand squeeze his arm, and looked down to see Hoshi smiling up at him. A strand of dark hair had fallen out of its constraints and dropped momentarily across her face, and she blew it aside. "Malcolm, you were amazing. I knew you would be."

"Humph." She didn't have to know for how many aeons it seemed that he had stood outside the mess hall door, almost shaking with nerves that were worse than anything he'd ever felt with a phase pistol in his hand and wishing with all the fervour of which he was capable that he'd had the sense to turn down this insane idea flat as soon as it had been broached. He still wasn't sure what had carried him into the room and across the floor: it hadn't felt like courage, but more like the utter recklessness of the damned. Still, it had been an  _experience_ , he'd give it that. He grinned wryly back at her, acknowledging the compliment. "You were pretty amazing yourself, Hoshi." He put an arm around her waist and squeezed, to a chorus of oohs and aahs. Normally it would have been an act totally outside his universe, but after the other places he'd had to get used to grabbing, a waist was definitely not an issue. And hell, it was Christmas after all.

* * *

It wasn't particularly late when Lieutenant Reed walked back alone to his quarters; he was on duty early in the morning, and with that in view he'd also been sparing with the alcohol once Hoshi had been commandeered for less demanding dances with a queue of eager would-be partners, of whom Travis had been the first despite his protests of inadequacy. He was very tired, but a strange sense of satisfaction warmed him. It wasn't the same sort of feeling as his job gave him, deeply satisfying as that could sometimes be; it was more to do with the sense of belonging that had somehow enfolded him this evening, a feeling that had so desperately eluded him for most of his childhood. He'd worried that in lowering his guard among his fellow crewmen he'd forfeit their respect; now he realised that Hoshi had been right, and the fear had been groundless. He was never going to be able to replicate Trip's easy style of leadership, nor the captain's, and it wouldn't have been appropriate to try even if he wanted to: his job was to remain ever vigilant, ever suspicious, and if he dropped his hard façade by even a fraction while on duty then he would have failed in it. Nevertheless, the world was no longer the mostly cold and comfortless place it had been up to a couple of months ago – and more broadly speaking, up till an hour or so ago. He was no longer protecting his colleagues. He was protecting his  _friends._

 _Damn,_  as Trip would say,  _but_   _it felt good._

 

_  
_

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> All comments received with gratitude!


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